The Wolf and the Lion
by MarshalofMontival
Summary: Hogwarts is a nation on the Eastern Continent that exports mercenaries. Gryffindor's Lion Company takes employment with Robb Stark. Harry/Ginny,Ron/Hermione, no Stark ship. Rated M for language/violence. Reviews are appreciated.
1. Terms of Employment

Robb Stark examined the man before him. He was tall, with the broad-shouldered, muscular build of a swordsman, and a plainly handsome face that included untidy black hair, green eyes, and a peculiar scar on his forehead, shaped like a lightning bolt. The long black cloak he wore over his plate armor was entirely practical, as was the armor itself, from the barbute helmet tucked under his left arm to his armor-plated boots. The only decoration of any kind was the black lion on gold painted on his left rerebrace and an eight pointed star with the initials GG just below it. The hand-and-a-half sword and matching dagger hanging at his belt were just as practical as the armor was. The only oddity was the short stick thrust into a sheath next to the dagger. Robb already seen a demonstration of the mercenary leader's magic and had to admit that it was quite impressive. That he had used that stick, a wand, he called it, to cast the spells made a certain amount of sense. Focus would be insanely important in that kind of business after all. Even more astounding was the man's presence. He wore command as easily as his armor. He cleared his throat.

"So, Captain-General Potter, how many swords can you bring to our banner? And how many wizards?"

"The Lion Company maintains six thousand fighters under arms at present, all of them proficient with sword, bow, shield, and magic. In an emergency, we could summon an additional four thousand from Gryffindor, but those would be mostly retired veterans, half-trained recruits, and those of our dependents who can hold their own in a battle. In addition, we have a few units of magical creatures. One of my brothers-in-law, Charlie, is a noted dragon breeder, and Hagrid maintains one of the finest Hippogriff herds in the world."

"Dragons?" the Greatjon interrupted eagerly. "How many?"

"At present, Lord Umber, thirty-six that we can put into the battle line. And if Charlie is telling me the truth, we could have twice that number two years from now. We use them as a sort of flying artillery. They each have a rider that, in point of fact, is there mostly to block incoming projectiles and make sure the dragon reacts appropriately to orders. The dragon takes care of the rest."

The way the sellsword captain-general spoke so casually of using dragons in combat, when the last dragons in Westeros had died out hundreds of years ago, was astounding. And if the half-horse, half-eagle creature that Potter had flown in on was any indicator of the quality of Hagrid's Hippogriff herd, then The Lion Company had an aerial cavalry that would make horsemen have jealous aneurysms from Dorne to the Vale. And his escort, all hard-bitten veterans with rough, practical armor as plain as their commander's was, filled Robb with confidence.

"Would you allow us to confer, Captain-General Potter?"

"Of course, Sire." The sellsword commander momentarily bowed, straightened, and left the chamber.

Robb forestalled the worst of the babble with a raised hand. "My lords, if you would do each other the courtesy of voicing your opinions in turn, it would spare us time and migraines. Lord Bolton?"

"Hire them, Sire," the dead-eyed lord of the Dreadfort said instantly. "Even if the captain's claim of dragons is so much hot air, six thousand extra swords is nothing to set aside so lightly."

"Lord Karstark?"

"I second Bolton, Your Majesty. Our recent triumphs aside, we are yet outnumbered by the Lannisters. Six thousand swords would go a long way towards evening those odds."

"Lord Umber?"

"Hire them, Your Majesty, even if it empties our treasury," the huge northerner insisted. "Between those hippogriffs and the dragons the captain mentioned, nothing would stand against us."

"Lord Brynden, Lord Edmure?"

"Hire them on the spot, Sire," proclaimed the Blackfish as his brother nodded vigorously. "Give me a thousand good outriders mounted on hippogriffs and nothing would move between the Neck and Deep Den but we would know of it. And it has been centuries since any army in the world has faced dragons. They alone could give us victory."

Robb nodded. "Then we shall offer terms to the Lion Company. Our treasury is sufficient to the task of it, so we need not fear bankruptcy." He gestured to the page at the door. "Call back the captain."

Potter walked in not five minutes later. "You have come to a decision then, Your Majesty?" he asked in a tone that stated that he already knew the answer.

The King in the North nodded. "Twenty thousand gold dragons per quarter, with any plunder your Company takes subject to the usual terms." That meant two eighths to the employer, two to the captain, another two to be divided among his officers, and the rest to be divided among the common soldiers of the company.

"Twenty-three thousand gold's a quarter and you have a deal," the captain-general replied. "You don't _want_ to know how much it costs to feed two hundred dragons, half of those with young." The Greatjon's mouth dropped at "two hundred dragons".

"We will have the contract ready for signatures tomorrow."

"I will have the rest of the Lion Company on the road from Saltpans by this evening and here in Riverrun in three days," Potter replied. "With your permission, I must draft and issue the movement orders."

"One question before you go, Captain-General." At Potter's raised eyebrow, Robb forged ahead. "Are there other companies like yours that we could hire?"

Potter frowned. "None that are readily available. The Raptors signed a five-year deal with Lady Arryn a few weeks after your Lady mother left the Vale, courtesy of Lysa Arryn's growing paranoia. The Badgers are in Hufflepuff for rest and refit after a nasty little trade war in Myr; they'll be out of business for a year or so. And the Silver Serpents are still recovering from King Robert's rebellion. Normally, losing five-sixths of your strength fighting for a madman and all your credibility by switching sides is a death blow to a Company; the only reason they survived at all is because a good half of the Serpents had rather substantial family vaults at Gringott's and drew heavily on them to survive those first five years after Robert took the throne. They've been doing little jobs for ten years now; small scraps between arguing guilds, hired-dagger work for various nobles, that sort of thing. The biggest job they've had since the rebellion has been a dispute between Norvos and Tyrosh, and that was only because both sides were too cheap to hire anyone else. As a significant war-fighting force, they're virtually insignificant; less than eight hundred fighters under arms if I remember correctly, even if they armed everyone who wasn't nursing, pregnant, crippled, or otherwise too handicapped to fight a battle. And they haven't fought in a major conflict in fifteen years."

Robb shrugged in disappointment. "Very well, then. If any of those Companies becomes available, let me know and we shall see about employing them."

XXX


	2. To Arms

**A/N: Sorry I didn't get to this last time, I uploaded the chapter at one in the morning and my brain was half fried. Anyway, this is just an idea my sister and I came up with on vacation, and she thought it couldn't be made to work. If anyone out there is interested in beta reading for the next several chapters, send me the requisite information and we'll see how it works. This is my first story, so don't eat me please, this is just for fun. Disclaimer: I own neither A Song of Ice and Fire or Harry Potter. If I did I wouldn't be writing fanfics for them, would I? In any case, those series are the province of George R. R. Martin and J. K. Rowling respectively. Now sit back and enjoy the show!**

They marched into Riverrun two days after the contract was signed, six thousand men and women all mounted on various creatures. Fully two-thirds of the Lion Company was mounted on Hippogriffs, but there were other creatures in evidence. Ronald Weasley's Bloodguard, a thousand elite warriors second only to Harry's five hundred-strong Life Guards, were all mounted on Griffins. Some of the women rode unicorns, while some of the men rode regular horses, coursers for the moment, but destriers were evident among the baggage train. The only decoration was on the Company's flag, showing their black lion on gold with different animals in combatant to denote the various divisions. The First, Ronald's Bloodguards, had a griffin. Seamus Finnigan's Second bore a winged horse, while Oliver Wood's Third carried a centaur. Percy Weasley's Fourth displayed a basilisk, while the Fifth, Harry Potter's own double-strength headquarters division, held a phoenix. The Company wheeled right in review with the easy competency of professionals and halted with all the smoothness of a well-oiled machine, turning left to face their newest employer while the Lion Company's commanders trotted out to stand before their men.

Every soldier in the Lion Company, man or woman, wore at least a cuirass, pauldrons, vambraces, and greaves of steel plate. Some of the Company, those meant for heavy cavalry work like the Bloodguard, wore full plate armor head to foot, while others, like the unicorn-mounted women, forewent the cuirass and wore mail hauberks or brigandines with steel plates riveted over them, which Robb assumed was in keeping with their apparent role as light horse. Each soldier also carried sword, shield, and wand, while other weapons seemed to either be carried by preference or by role. For example, very few of the Bloodguard carried bows, while the unicorn-mounted light horse only rarely carried maces, lances, or axes.

Harry walked his steel-gray hippogriff forward and snapped off a salute. "The Lion Company reports for duty, Sire! Command us, and it shall be done!"

The King in the North acknowledged the salute with one of his own. "We welcome you and your Company to our army, Captain-General Potter. My first command is that the Lion Company make camp, so that we might give them a proper welcome, in keeping with Northern hospitality. Dismissed!" Potter saluted, turned his hippogriff, and barked orders to his subordinates. Within minutes, the Gryffindors had about-faced and marched out of the courtyard as smoothly as they had marched in.

XXX

The day after the feast, Harry, Ron, Seamus, Oliver, Percy, and Hermione stood around the map table with the Young Wolf and his council. Hermione didn't hold a formal battlefield command, but was instead a combination of camp master, quartermaster, and head of research and development. She had left the day-to-day running of the department to her deputy, Parvati Patil, but it was common knowledge that most of the ingenuity in Gryffindor's R&D division came from the Weasley twins and that Hermione's role had more to do with keeping Fred and George in check than with actual innovation. Hermione knew it too, but then, she knew precisely how crazy the twins could get without a good hand on the reins. She was more than happy enough to keep the twins in check to keep them from veering off on random tangents that would cost irreplaceable time and resources.

"Captain-General Potter, what is the status of the Lion Company after last night?" asked King Robb.

Harry raised his head from the map. "The Third can be in the saddle and down the road in two hours. The First can be after them three hours later, with the Second, Fourth, and Fifth after them at half hour intervals." He smiled. "Third Division drew short straw last night and was restricted to one drink only. I understand there were a few arguments about it." Oliver nodded in chagrin. His lieutenant, Angelina, had been particularly vocal about the matter.

The king smiled. "Excellent. Here is my plan for your Company." He indicated the map. "Send your Third to the southwest and have them set the land afire from Ashenmark down to Cornfield. I don't want a pitched battle there, not yet, but they can feel free to harass and raid any force they like, so long as it is done intelligently." Oliver nodded. Nine in ten of the Third was mounted on Hippogriffs. They specialized in chevauchees like Robb was planning. "Can your men take Golden Tooth without a prolonged siege?"

Harry grinned. "Breezing. It simply astounds me, the number of fortified towns we've taken because some fool of a sentry failed to look up until a hippogriff plucked him off the battlements and dropped him."

"How many men would you need for the task?"

"The Second and half of the Fourth should suffice," he turned to Seamus with eyebrow raised.

"Easily. All we'd need the Fourth for would be to help with garrison duty after the seizure and to give us a margin for error. If you would give us some of your regular foot for a replacement garrison, we could do it and be back in two weeks or less."

"Brilliant. Then I would like to give the Fourth's outriders to the Blackfish to help him in his reconnaissance duties and to give him some extra punch. As for the First and the Fifth, I would like you with my regular army as a reserve. We will be marching to The Crag, with the intent of storming it and eventually marching to Casterly Rock." Harry blinked. Casterly Rock was one of the strongest fortresses in Westeros, certainly the strongest in the Westerlands. It would take at least three of his divisions to storm the place, and it would have to be done with the utmost skill and ruthlessness. But the Lion Company had never been defeated under his leadership. If you believe that you are invincible for long enough, then you come very close to actually being so. Self-confidence was as much a weapon as a sword or spell.

"Shall I effect your orders immediately, Sire?" he asked respectfully.

"Yes. With all speed." Harry turned and nodded to Oliver, Seamus, and Percy. The three captains saluted, turned, and marched from the room, their cloaks swirling behind them in their haste.

**A/N: Action, coming right up!**


	3. Pulling the Tooth

Seamus grinned as he swooped down on the unsuspecting castle below him. The Second and the 1st/4th had arrived in Golden Tooth's vicinity only last evening. As far as he knew, the garrison didn't know his force was anywhere nearby. They certainly didn't know that he was now flying for their keep right now, with the aerial detachment of the Second right behind him. He glanced back and made a gesture with his right hand. Dean, his lieutenant, nodded and peeled off, his half of the detachment following him. Their task was to seize the gate for the rest of the force, while Seamus's team decapitated the castle's leadership. A sentry down below on the keep's roof yawned and stretched, freezing as he glimpsed the winged figures above him. He had almost opened his mouth to shout a warning when a Hippogriff-fletched arrow slammed through the visor of his lion-crested half-helm and killed him instantly. Similar arrows followed and the other two guards on the roof of the keep dropped like flies. Seamus smiled; he had trained his soldiers long and hard to put those posers in the Third to shame. He would like to see Oliver Wood do the same under these conditions.

His men landed lightly on top of the keep and swiftly unbuckled the leg straps that augmented their stirrups, sliding off their mounts with only a slight rattle of armor and moving swiftly to the trapdoor. Speed and silence were everything in these affairs; all it took was one inquisitive sentry and they were all buggered. A quick _Alohomora_ unlocked the trapdoor and the hundred and fifty men in Seamus's team swarmed down the steps like ghosts. The only guards they encountered were standing outside a set of doors that clearly advertised that these were the castellan's quarters.

The Lions had a procedure for dealing with such situations. A Silencing Charm prevented the guards from sounding an alert, a Stunning Spell knocked them out, and a quick levitation charm prevented the guards from making any noise against the floor as they fell. Two of Seamus's men moved the guards aside and bound them while a six-man squad stacked up beside the door while the rest of the team split, half remaining to provide cover and the rest moving away to deal with the barracks. The first three men in the entry squad held long heater-shaped shields and swords, while the three behind them carried over-under crossbows. The aim in this, as in the entire operation, was for speed. The castellan had to be removed before he could rally the garrison, or instead of an easy coup-de-main, Seamus's men would have to fight a costly siege.

He looked at the lead man in the entry squad and received a swift nod. He leveled his wand at the door lock and held up three fingers on his left hand. _Three, two, one._ "_Alohomora_," he mumbled. The door drifted inward and the squad surged into the room, shields and crossbows up and scanning for targets. A hissed "Clear," brought Seamus walking into the room to find that it was indeed secure, and that the castellan was still sound asleep with his wife snoring beside him while two of the crossbowmen covered him. Seamus shook his head. This was too easy.

He drew his dagger and placed it against the castellan's throat as he covered his mouth with his free hand. The man awoke at the prick of steel against the side of his windpipe and his eyes bulged at the sight of four crossbow bolts not two feet from his torso. "One sound, and your wife becomes a widow in a very bloody mess, got me?" Seamus snarled softly. At the man's nod, Seamus uncovered his mouth. "Now, master castellan, you will be silent and make no attempt to alert the guards. If you do, then I will slit your belly open and throw you to your own dogs." At the man's second nod, Seamus Stupefied him and his wife with his surreptitiously drawn wand and turned to the entry team. "Stay here, make sure they stay alive." They nodded acknowledgement as he strode from the room and met with a runner from the other half of the team. The barracks had been sealed, _Colloportus _spells locking the doors and keeping the garrison locked up inside. He nodded and turned to his signaler. "Send the signal, castellan and garrison secure." The young man nodded, summoned a Patronus, and sent it streaking towards the gatehouse. No sooner had it sailed out the window than Dean's dog Patronus entered the same way, came to rest in front of Seamus, scratched itself, and said in Dean's voice, "Gatehouse secured, little resistance, no casualties. Ready to open the gates at your signal."

Seamus smiled. He conjured his own Patronus and sent it out the window to the rest of the division. "Gatehouse secure, castellan secure, garrison secure. Come ahead."

XXX

Eight days later, two thousand five hundred northern infantry flying the Bolton's banner of the flayed man marched up to the gates to be welcomed by Seamus's exuberant troops. As it turned out, Golden Tooth had been turned into a supply dump for the Lannisters and the storerooms beneath the castle were packed with food, weapons, and sundry supplies. After the infantry commander accepted command of Golden Tooth, the Lions mounted up and rode and flew away to the north.

**A/N: If you want me to keep posting chapters, please send in reviews. The more and better reviews I get, the better the story can get. Toodles!**


	4. Chevauchee

Oliver rubbed his eyes and looked over the final report. For two weeks now, his division had pillaged the Westerlands, while the Greatjon's men reived and plundered around the Banefort like rampaging wolves and Roose Bolton and Percy danced around Harrenhall and kept Tywin Lannister fixed in place. He had learned of Golden Tooth's fall eight days ago and had hardly been surprised. Seamus was even more of a fire-eater than Ron was and he remembered how Ron had led his detachment into the breach at the Bloody Fields sixteen years ago, the one and only time the Dothraki had attempted to conquer Hogwarts. Even outnumbered two to one by Dothraki screamers and with the whole defense hanging in the balance, Ron had led a raging charge that had held the nomads long enough for Dumbledore to bring up reinforcements from the Raptors.

He shook his head to clear the memory from his mind and returned to the report. His Third had taken an estimated thirty thousand gold dragon's worth of plunder from the prosperous country east of Casterly Rock, left nine small towns and fifteen villages burning in their wake, and routed a Lannister army five thousand strong with less than one hundred casualties, taking thirty five hundred prisoners, including several nobles. By the terms of the contract, their ransoms were his divisions alone, minus only the two-eighths that was the employer's due. Oliver frowned, conflicted. He didn't particularly like chevauchee duty; he could all too easily imagine that it was his own family's fields being put to the torch. But at the same time, it made sense. This region was some of the best land in the West, and without the resources that his men had so recently plundered, the Lannisters would be hard-pressed to support an army in this area to menace King Robb's southern flank. Even more important, that army he had destroyed had been the only one that the Lannisters had had in the region. Lord Tywin had the bulk of the Lannister forces at Harrenhall, the King had routed another at Oxcross, and the remains of the Kingslayer's broken forces were still replenishing in Casterly Rock. Between his raiding and Seamus's capture of Golden Tooth, Casterly Rock was completely open to attack from the east, and once the King and Harry seized The Crag, the seat of the Lannister's power would be completely exposed. He stretched, signed the report, sealed it in an envelope, and tied it to his owl's leg. "This is for Harry and the King only, you hear me?" he asked the big Great Gray, which gave him an affronted look.

"Yes, I should know better than to question you by now." Oliver picked up the owl and carried it out of the tent. "Now get out of here," he said, tossing the owl into the air. It winged away north, making no sound as it flapped into the sky.

**A/N: For you non-history buffs, a chevauchee (shev-au-shay, weird pronunciation, as expected from French) is a grand scale raid through enemy territory where you burn, loot, or kill everything in your path. It was most famously used in the Hundred Years War when the English would invade France, as the fourteenth century equivalent of carpet bombing.**

**Ginny is coming up in the next chapter, but only if I get at least five reviews! Otherwise, no Harry/Ginny for you!**

**Peace out, MarshalofMontival**


	5. Enter the Dragons

**Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter or A Song of Ice and Fire, then I wouldn't be writing fanfiction for them, now, would I?**

The first dragons flew into the camp outside The Crag to great astonishment. There were twelve of them all together, five Common Greens, a trio of Short-Snouts, a pair of Blacks, a Fireball, and a Horntail in the lead. Ginny Potter leaped off the Horntail's back, pulled the reins over its head, and marched over to Harry. "Champion Squadron reporting for duty, sir!" Harry acknowledged her salute and motioned for her to go on. "Charlie sends his regards, and says that he can have Warrior and Devastator Squadrons here within three months. It was hell, really, getting here discreetly, but your orders prioritized secrecy. We had to go the long way, detouring around Braavos to The Fingers, and then from there down around the Vale until we got to the Trident. We skirted around Riverrun and had to stop for the night about halfway between here and there. No enemy contact and nothing exciting except for the flying." The two smiled at each other. Under the regulations of the Hogwarts Companies, they had to keep their relationship strictly professional while they were on duty, but they could live with it. They had done so, in fact, for five years now.

"Well done, Captain," Harry replied. "See that your squadron is settled and fed, and then find me for a staff meeting. I need to introduce you to the King." They exchanged salutes again and Ginny picked up her dragon's reins and walked towards the area of the encampment that had been marked out for the dragons four days ago. Harry smiled at her retreating back. His wife had been the test pilot for Charlie's dragon rider program from day one, something her mother had been utterly horrified about. Ginny had replied that virtually every other Weasley in the Company had done something insane, and that she was simply carrying on the tradition. Harry had supported her every inch of the way, even going so far as to defy his mother-in-law to her face, which no one who had met Molly Weasley would take lightly. At least Ginny's father had helped to placate the Weasley matriarch.

XXX

Ginny Potter scrubbed a wiry brush over the back of her dragon's scaly neck, kicking it on the snout as it tried to turn its head from the sheep it was devouring. The relationship between a dragon and its rider was one where the rider had to maintain superiority at all times; a fact especially true with a breed as vicious as the Horntail. She had established dominance over Grendel by means of an old-fashioned stare down, no mean feat between Grendel's size and the psychotic gleam that habitually inhabited his yellow, cat-pupiled eyes. By the standards of most dragons, however, Grendel was rather well-behaved, leaving aside the psychosis. She only had to use a Stunner on him on rare occasion. The Greens were better behaved, but then, they were the draconic version of Irish Setters; they would still challenge you on occasion, but they did everything aside from lick your hand and piss on the furniture. She preferred her fiery Grendel, even with the psychosis. That aside, she didn't envy Katie her Fireball, that creature was a masterful fighter, but also had a borderline attitude that had confounded everyone but Katie.

She laid aside the brush and rapped her knuckles on Grendel's forehead to get his attention. "Stay here and be polite, boy. If I have to pull you out of another scrape again, then you can spice your own sheep from now on." Grendel preferred his sheep with a mixture of black pepper and Dornish chilies. He rumbled in a vaguely affirmative fashion and nudged her with the side of his head, as if to shoo her on her way and leave him to his supper. She rubbed his eyebrow ridge, turned her back on him confidently, and strolled away, picking up her sword belt on the way out. She buckled it on as she strode towards the command tent, settling the weight of the stirrup-hilted saber firmly on her hip and checking the ease of draw on the saber, dagger, and wand by sliding them free a few inches and then snapping them back. She didn't expect an attack right here in the camp, but it was a good habit to maintain, on the principle that such habits saved your life.

She found the command tent and gained admittance from the pair of hard-bitten northerners standing guard. Entering, she found Harry, Ron, Percy, and Hermione talking with a trio of men who she assumed were the northerner's senior commanders. One was visibly older, with grey hair, thick eyebrows, and blue eyes set in a lined and weathered face. His surcoat was a variation on the Tully sigil, with the red salmon replaced with a black fish. That was obviously Brynden "Blackfish" Tully, commander of the outriders. The other was huge, second only to Hagrid in her experience, with a thick beard and moustache, bulging muscles, and a fierce expression. Between his size and the unchained giant on his surcoat, this was obviously Jon Umber, more commonly called the Greatjon. The third was big and broad, but still dwarfed by the Greatjon, with fair skin, red brown hair, and blue eyes. By his youth, description, and the way the other lords seemed to defer to him, this was Robb Stark, called the Young Wolf, the King in the North. _Funny_, she thought. _If I didn't know better and if it wasn't for the hair, I'd say he was a relative. He certainly fits the Weasley stereotype otherwise if the stories are true._

Harry looked up from the map. "Ah, Captain. Your Majesty, my lords, Captain Ginevra Potter, commander of Champion Squadron, our new dragon contingent. Ginny, these are Robb Stark, the King in the North and our current employer," the young man nodded. "Lord Jon Umber of Last Hearth, called the Greatjon," the huge man smiled down at her. "And Brynden Tully, known as the Blackfish," the older man raised a hand in welcome.

She snapped off a salute. "A pleasure to meet you, Sire, my lords. May our relationship be long and profitable to both of us."

The young king smiled. "May it be so indeed, Captain. How does your squadron?"

"We could be ready for battle tomorrow, Sire, but I would prefer that the dragons had a day to rest and recuperate before flying combat duty."

"Then they shall have it. The garrison seems to think that we are settling in for a long siege." His smile grew wider. "Won't they be surprised when they find twelve dragons knocking on their door?"

"Say rather, Sire, burning down the door. And the castle with it!" the Greatjon laughed.

"We can certainly do both, Sire, but I believe that you would prefer to have the castle intact?" Ginny asked over the massive northerner's avalanche of chuckles.

"That would be preferable, yes. I would rather have a functioning stronghold to use a fall-back point if ever we need it, not a smoldering heap of rubble," Robb admitted.

"In that case, I can have you in the castle within the week. All I need is permission to wage a rather outrageous bluff."

The King and the Captain-General exchanged looks and grinned, a look better suited to large, predatory animals than to humans. Stark turned to her. "Captain, you may bluff to your heart's content. Just get me into The Crag, by hook or by crook."

Ginny's own smile looked like it had been borrowed from Grendel. "It shall be done, Sire," she assured him. She snapped off another salute to the King and to her Captain-General, then turned and marched from the tent, her brain churning.

After she left, the Greatjon whistled. "So that's your wife, Potter?" he asked.

Harry nodded. "The one and only," he replied softly. Umber gave him a jesting look.

"She's a handful, that one," he observed. "You sure you know what you got into?"

Harry gave him a jaundiced look. "She was the test pilot for the dragon rider project. Stared down a dragon several dozen times her size to do it, daring it to flame her the whole while. Besides that, I've fenced and dueled against her near every day for thirteen years. She beats me about one time in three even now, when I have three inches and nearly twenty-five pounds of muscle on her. I know full well what I got into when I married her, Lord Umber. And I wouldn't have it any other way."

**A/N: Ahh! And before I get comments about how Ginny beating Harry is not plausible, Ginny is mentioned in HP canon as being a powerful witch in her own right, and you'd have to be good to be a woman in a mercenary company. Even one as equal-opportunity as the Lions.**


	6. Bringers of Hell

**Disclaimer: I own neither Harry Potter nor A Song of Ice and Fire. Those are the provinces of George R. R. Martin and J. K. Rowling.**

Ginny tightened the last leg strap on her saddle and picked up the knotted reins from the pommel of her saddle. Around her, the eleven other members of her squadron strapped in and made their final equipment check as their dragons rustled and snapped in anticipation. Katie's Fireball tried to bite at Colin's Green, but Katie fired an Impediment Curse into the side of its head and glared at it as it turned a hurt expression on her. Ginny grinned as the Fireball subsided, looking slightly sheepish. They were the best of the new dragon riders, the weapon that hadn't been experienced by anyone for generations. In a way, that was what made them so dangerous.

They were the ultimate psychological weapon.

One dragon, wild and untamed, was scary enough. Two or three made most people shit themselves in fear. A dozen fully grown dragons controlled and aimed and manipulated for maximum effect would break armies to pieces with the hammer of terror and drown them in flame.

The trick was doing it right.

She looked down and found Harry at her knee. She smiled internally as she remembered last night, and how they had fervently made up for months of mutual absence. Their sons and daughter were back in Gryffindor, with their grandparents and uncles. She used a birth control potion to keep from getting pregnant on campaign, but she still hoped to give Harry another child someday. Maybe after they had been promoted out of the Company and into the administration they would have the opportunity. Dumbledore had as much as hinted to Harry that the next open position on the Hogwarts General Staff was his for the asking.

"Fly well, Captain," Harry said softly. "And come back in one piece. We will need you, for the road ahead."

She made her internal smile external. "Count on it, Captain-General." They shook hands firmly, and then Harry backed away and saluted. She returned the salute, fixed a small rubber bud in her ear and its accompanying rubber rod by the corner of her mouth and turned to her squadron. "Sound off!" she yelled.

"Two, ready to tango." Katie's voice emanated from the rubber bud in her ear, as clearly as if Katie was right next to her instead of across several yards of now actively restless dragons. It was one of Fred and George's inventions. A charm on the rod picked up speech and sent it to the rubber earbuds. It was infinitely better than trying to shout.

"Three, kicked the legs, ready to burn the kegs." Tyler, on his Short-Snout.

"Four and I'll have a gillywater with a butterbeer chaser." Ian, forking one of the Blacks.

"Five, ready to rumble." Patreck, on the other Black.

"Six, fit to fly." David, another of the Short-Snout drivers.

"Seven, and my drag's getting antsy." Joshua, one of the Green fliers.

"Eight, and I'll have a straight firewhiskey." Gideon, on another Green.

"Nine, raring to go." Colin.

"Ten, and let's get this over with." Henry, another of the Greens, impatient as ever.

"Eleven, ready to sound the horn and call the cry." Roxanne, the third Short-Snout jockey.

"Twelve, and Eleven stole my line. Again." John, on his Green.

Ginny smiled at that last. "Lift off in order, after me." She kicked her heels into Grendel's sides, and the Horntail roared a challenge call as he sprang off the ground and flapped into the air. Behind her, she heard the Fireball's bellow, the strident roar of the Blacks, the blaring rasp of the Short-Snouts, and the strangely melodic bugling of the Greens. As they lifted off, they formed into their respective flight groups. Ginny took the lead with Katie, Tyler, and Ian following her forming One Flight, Patreck, David, Joshua, and Gideon formed up on the right as Two Flight, and Colin led Henry, Roxanne, and John to the left as Three Flight. Together they formed a loose wedge, spaced far enough apart that their fires could cover the maximum amount of ground and still overlap. They leveled out at two hundred and fifty feet and soared towards The Crag, sitting proud and strong on its rocky outcropping. As they drew closer, Ginny could hear alarm trumpets over the rush of the wind in her unoccupied ear, screaming out _Dragons! Cruel dragons are coming! Dragons!_ She smiled fiercely. Let the games begin.

"Two Flight, Three Flight, split off and do a lap around the walls. Keep it in formation, like we were reviewing for the Headmaster."

"Five copies."

"At your command, Leader."

"One Flight, once over and then back. Remember we're on parade here people. Block incoming projectiles but do not reply." Acknowledgments rolled back as the wedge split into three smaller wedges. Arrows flickered out from the walls driven by long yew bows or short, powerful crossbows. They bounced off the heavy Shield Charms worked into each dragon's harness with barely audible tinks or plunks. A scorpion launched a six-foot long spear at Ginny's Horntail, only to have Grendel twist his head around and catch it in his mouth, biting it in half contemptuously and spitting out the pieces. As the squadron regrouped before the gatehouse, they reformed into their loose wedge and prepared for a sweep across the front of the castle, Ginny casting a Sonorous Charm on herself. As the dragons made another pass in review, this time slowly, Ginny called out to the garrison.

"You have until sundown to announce your surrender! If you do not, then _this_ will happen to _you_!" She signaled her squadron and, as they turned back, their dragons breathed a steady stream of fire across the whole space in front of the castle. Over the roar and crackle of the flames, she yelled, "We start half an hour after sundown if you do not surrender!" She removed the Sonorous Charm, imagining the commotion inside the castle. One pass like that would set almost the whole Crag aflame, and the subsequent runs she would order would make it worse. She grimaced at the thought of the civilians that would be trapped in there with the inferno. Women, children, babies . . . her womb clenched in sympathy. She dearly hoped that the garrison commander would surrender. If not, it would be the worst massacre since the Lannisters had sacked King's Landing.

**Twenty House points and five golden dragons to whoever gets the Heather Alexander reference. Reviews, please! Feedback makes the stories better!**


	7. A Rock and a Hard Place

**A/N: Sorry about the long wait, Real Life has been deranged lately. And kudos to ShivaKuy for spotting the Heather Alexander reference in the previous chapter. Disclaimer; If I owned A Song of Ice and Fire or Harry Potter, then I wouldn't have to find a job to help pay for college.**

Harry looked at the walls of Casterly Rock from his vantage point on top of a nearby hill. After Ginny had delivered her ultimatum, The Crag's garrison had rioted, killing their commander and falling over themselves to open the gates. At that point, Robb had announced a change in plan. He would take the Second and the Fourth east with him to confront Tywin Lannister's men in Harrenhal. In the meantime, Harry, with the rest of the Lions, was to besiege and capture Casterly Rock. Ginny's dragons were out patrolling the area to the south and east in case a relief force came up from Crakehall or Goldengrove or marching along the Goldroad. Ron's Bloodguard was camped directly in front of the gatehouse, trebuchets, mangonels, and Blasting and Demolishing Curses battering at the defenses. As Harry watched a red beam streaked towards the barbican and blew a large gouge out of the face of the wall. At this rate, the Lions would create a breach within three weeks. At that point, Harry would be obligated under the Articles to offer terms to the garrison. If they were refused and the Lions had to fight their way into the castle, then everything in it would be forfeit, from the lives of the garrison to the silverware.

As lucrative as sacks generally were, Harry disliked them. For one thing, he detested the unnecessary loss of life that went hand in hand with such things. For another, it just seemed unprofessional to him, to have his soldiers run riot through the city like rabid beasts. A commander was responsible for the actions of his men at all times, no exceptions. He had no wish to be responsible for more deaths than he had to be, especially among the smallfolk. It made him look weak, he realized, in the eyes of such people as Draco Malfoy, the captain of the Silver Serpents, but Malfoy was a scavenger anyway. Did the lion care for the yapping of the jackal? And he did not care what the likes of Malfoy thought of him; they would not understand to begin with.

"Brooding again?" Harry turned to find Ron standing behind him, arms crossed with a friendly smirk on his face. Harry regarded him archly.

"There is a world of difference, Ronald Weasley, between brooding and thinking."

"Well, they both involve you standing around with that thunderous expression on your face, mate, so how am I supposed to tell the difference?" Ron joked as he leaned against the lone elm tree. His face turned serious. "An owl just came in from Jimmy Peakes."

Harry frowned. Peakes was the Captain of Warrior Squadron, one of the two dragon units that were supposed to arrive in three weeks' time. "Give me the short version."

Ron nodded. "The fucking ironmen tried to take over the North while everyone was away."

Harry jerked. "WHAT?" he yelled. Factors began to spin in his brain. "Recall the Champions and get the Third ready to –"

"Hold your Hippogriff's, mate," Ron said hastily, patting the air. "Let me give you the long version." Harry subsided reluctantly. "Balon Greyjoy sent his daughter Asha to seize Deepwood Motte with thirty longships, while his son Theon was to raid the Stony Shore with eight. The true thrust however was to be made by his brother Victarion and the Iron Fleet. He was to sail up the Sunspear and the Fever River and seize Moat Cailin." Harry felt his heart rate rise appreciably. Moat Cailin controlled all land access to the North. If it was taken, then the only reinforcements they could get would be the ones they could find in the Riverlands. "Peakes flew over Victarion's force by chance and challenged them. He was fired upon, and so counter-attacked. An entire fleet of longships caught in a river with nowhere to run and nowhere to hide."

Harry grimaced. "The carnage must have been incredible."

"Peakes wrote that it was as if the very river had caught fire, the burning ships were so clustered together. He estimates that less than a thousand men survived and most of those were snapped up by the garrison at Moat Cailin. Peakes got suspicious and sent Alicia to Winterfell with the Devastators while he took the Warriors on a patrol. Theon tried to get clever and seize Winterfell, but he ran into the Devastators." Ron chuckled. "To hear Alicia tell it, Theon nearly died of shock."

"I can well imagine," Harry replied, laughing himself.

"Peakes flew up to Deepwood Motte and found Asha Greyjoy in possession. He told her about what had happened to her uncle and gave her his burned head to prove it." Harry nodded. That was Peakes to the core. "Asha packed everyone up and left that night. Or tried to, Peakes caught up with her the next morning, off Sea Dragon Point. Asha chose not to surrender."

Harry glowered in disapproval. There was no shame in surrendering if you could no longer resist. And wooden ships could not fight dragons and live. _Unprofessional_, he thought disdainfully, _to be expected of amateurs. Soldiers like us might have surrendered. Warriors like the ironborn on the other hand . . ._ "What's Peakes doing now?" he asked.

"He's prowling the western shore like a chained tiger, looking for more longships with both his squadrons. He wants to fly out and turn the Iron Islands into barbecue and Balon Greyjoy with them. I'm inclined to let him do it."

Harry shook his head. "Send the report on to Robb and tell Peakes to keep patrolling but not to fly out to the Iron Islands. Without his longships, Greyjoy can only sit and stew anyway. If Robb wants to level Pyke, let him give the order. We have our own fish to fry." He jerked his head over his shoulder to indicate Casterly Rock. Ron nodded soberly.

No sane person would dare to call either man a coward. Harry's dress uniform included the Godric Star, Gryffindor's highest award for valor in the face of the enemy, won at the age of seventeen at Bloody Fields, while Ron, for the same action, wore _Hogwarts's_ highest decoration, the Founder's Cross. The criteria for the Cross was so exacting that it had only been awarded five times in recent history, and in three of those cases, it had been posthumous. Even so, neither man fancied charging into a contested breach.

"Once we have a breach, we'll have Ginny demonstrate her dragons again," Harry decided. "That should do wonders of persuasion."

Ron chuckled morbidly. "Even if it would probably just as harmful to us as it would be to them, to have dragons breathing fire just ahead of our troops." Harry agreed. The thought of attacking through a breach, arrows, crossbow bolts, stones, spears, and boiling oil all flying at you at once, while simultaneously having to march through patches of fire where the dragons had breathed on something flammable, was enough to make him cringe inside. "And speak of the devil and she shall appear!" Ron exclaimed, looking up. Ginny's Horntail was gliding towards the camp, the rest of One Flight escorting it. The brothers-in-law rushed down to the camp, arriving just after the dragons had touched down. Ginny unstrapped herself, jumped down from the saddle, and fired a Stunner into Grendel's face as he shifted his head towards her. The dragon recoiled from the sting of the high-powered spell, groaning slightly and giving his rider a reproachful look.

"Oh, shut up, you pansy," Ginny spat in disgust, before turning to Harry. "Captain-General, we have an issue."

Harry frowned. Ginny got more agitated as the magnitude of the "issue" increased, and she hadn't been this riled up since George had lost an ear to an experiment gone wrong. "Come to the command post," he replied levelly, turning and marching away, Ginny rushing to keep up. When the rest of the divisional commanders had arrived and the tent flap was closed, Ginny turned to Harry. "There are ten thousand soldiers coming up the Ocean Road, bearing Lannister and Tyrell colors."

**A/N: Ooooh, suspense! Review, please! Constructive feedback is both appreciated and useful!**


	8. Taking the Rock

Harry cut off the ensuing uproar with a shout of "SILENCE!" He turned to Ginny and went on in a conversational tone. "Continue, Captain."

Ginny pulled over the map of the Westerlands. "We first encountered the enemy just south of Crakehall. Seven thousand men, horse and foot, under Tyrell banners. They linked up with the three thousand men in Crakehall and started to march north this morning. The rest of the Champions are shadowing them and ambushing their scouts and forage parties." She raised her head and looked Harry in the eye. "Someone believes the rumors about dragons seriously. At least two-thirds of the enemy's force is archers, and they have these little contraptions that are like swivel mounted scorpions on chariots. If we had closed, the sheer weight of fire would have overwhelmed us."

Oliver frowned. "That cancels out the hippogriffs, too. They don't have the heavy Shield Charms built into their harness, just chainmail barding with regular Shield Charms." He looked down at the map. "We'd have to ambush them somewhere," he mused. "Some place where we can close the distance and get in among them before they can shoot us to pieces with their archers."

Ron smiled carnivorously. "We get the Bloodguard and the Life Guards in among them and you'll have to clean it up with a mop. Provided we get support of course," he hastened to add. "We're good, and the Life Guards are, I'll grudgingly admit, better, but not even the two of us combined can take on ten thousand men without support and hope to do more than commit a very messy suicide."

Harry snorted. "This from the man who charged a thousand Dothraki screamers with only a hundred men and everyone else he could rally."

"That was then, this is now," Ron retorted. "I was seventeen and desperate, everyone was desperate that day." There were nods all around. Everyone in that tent had scars from the Bloody Fields. "Now I'm thirty-two, married, with two children, _not_ desperate, and I'd prefer not to leave Hermione a widow with two teenage kids to support." That gave everyone pause. Oliver had a daughter in Gryffindor, while Harry and Ginny had their three kids. There were funds for bereaved family members as well as a guaranteed position in the Company when they came of age, but no one wanted to have to put them to use.

Harry bent over the map. "How much time do we have?" he asked Ginny.

"They're keeping in a pretty tight defensive square, with the baggage train right in the middle of it. Moving slowly, as you might imagine, trying to cover every angle at once." She shrugged. "With good weather, I'd say five to ten days. With bad weather? It depends on how bad, but anywhere between nine and fifteen."

Harry nodded. "Oliver, send a fast owl to Peakes, and tell him we need the Devastators down here _now._ Ginny, I need you to recall your squadron. We are moving into Casterly Rock tomorrow night."

Ron gaped. "Tomorrow night? Sir?"

Harry ignored him. "Ron, step up the bombardment. Get me a breach by tomorrow morning, if you have to wreck the machines and exhaust the casting teams to do it. We still need to offer the garrison their second set of terms." He raised a clenched fist to emphasize his point. "Understand me, people. _We need that castle._ With it, we can operate as freely as birds. Without it, we are between the hammer and the anvil. _Move!_" he commanded. The captains rushed away, Oliver to his tent to send the message to Peakes, Ginny back to her dragon to send another message, and Ron to the bombardment trenches. Harry sat down at his desk and began drafting the terms he would offer to the garrison. When he was finished, he set down his pen and stared at the wall of the tent, the wheels of his brain spinning like mad as he schemed and plotted.

XXX

Harry surveyed the breach with satisfaction. Ron had managed to sneak a volunteer team in close to use highly powerful tunneling spells. The resulting gap in the wall measured sixty feet across and had only a gentle slope to it. The only equipment the Lions would need to enter Casterly Rock were boots and a good sense of balance. "Well done, Ron," he said appreciatively to his bleary-eyed friend. "Better than I expected."

Ron nodded. "Once the machines and the Blasting and Demolishing Curses shook things loose, it was actually easier to use the tunnel spells. The trick was keeping the enemy archers off the team." He looked at the man who was both his friend and his commander. "Even so, that team took pretty heavy casualties. Five men dead and sixteen seriously wounded, out of twenty-five."

Harry nodded. "Double shares of the plunder for the dead men's families and a commendation for the rest. Courage and skill like that deserve special recognition." Ron agreed. "Now, we see if they have the sense to spare themselves the sack. Ah, here comes their commander." An armored man accompanied by a standard-bearer picked his way over the rubble. Harry turned to Ron. "If things turn sour, you have the command. And if it does happen, then spare no one in the castle. We cannot afford mercy, not with that other army crawling up our ass." Ron saluted. The two men clasped hands, not as subordinate to superior, but as friends and brothers-in-law, and Harry turned and signaled his standard bearer, a mustachioed veteran sergeant. "Let's go, Sarge," he ordered, and strode towards the enemy commander, the color sergeant a pace behind him. The two sides met halfway between the wall and the first trench. Harry's opposite number was somewhat fat, with graying hair and a florid complexion but shrewd eyes and a general demeanor like an old bear. Getting on in years and going to seed, but still dangerous for all that. The two men exchanged bows while their standard-bearers nodded at each other.

"Ser Garen Lannister, lord of Casterly Rock in Lord Tywin's absence," the other man introduced himself.

"Harry Potter, Captain-General of the Lion Company and commander of the forces now besieging you," Harry replied, continuing as the other man kept silent. "Under the Articles, I am compelled to offer you terms, now that a breach has been made."

Ser Garen frowned. "Go on," he said in tones of interest.

Harry set his face as hard as granite. "You will surrender the castle, intact, and your garrison, marching out of the gate without your arms to do so. You will give your parole that you will no longer take part in this war, and give us hostages as insurance. In return, my troops will not sack the castle, and you will be permitted safe passage to whatever destination you wish. If you refuse," he raised a hand over his head, "then you will receive a visit from these fine people." He clenched his fist, and Champion Squadron soared up from the ground, roaring and spewing fire in a truly frightening display.

Ser Garen's flushed face drained of all color. "Dragons," he breathed. "Stranger strike me down and Warrior throw me from his hall, _dragons_." He turned to Harry, astonished. "So the rumors of The Crag _are_ true."

Harry nodded. "Twelve in this camp right now, and another twelve on the way. They will be here by midnight." He paused to let he information sink into the old knight's brain. "The sack," he continued, "will take place _after_ the dragons have cleared your men from the breach and the wall. My men will be able to walk into Casterly Rock virtually uncontested, save for untrained smallfolk. All your preparations, all your careful planning, will count for nothing, because I will be greatly surprised if I have more than twenty casualties by the end of it." He watched Ser Garen deflate under the information. "The only way to spare unnecessary bloodshed," he said softly, "is to march out of the castle and surrender yourself and your men to my forces. Do that, and you will be a savior to more than five thousand lives. Remain obstinate, and you will be remembered as a butcher who killed his men for nothing. Who fed two thousand troops to a dozen dragons out of senility and pride and left three thousand smallfolk to the ravages of an army of sellswords. The choice, I leave entirely in your hands." Harry rocked back on his heels and let it sink in. He watched the knight struggle with himself, concealed emotions running across his face until he sagged, suddenly no longer a knight commanding a defiant garrison, but a tired old man in heavy armor, which now weighed on him like the world on the back of Atlas.

"I accept your terms, Captain-General. The garrison shall march out through the breach in two hours, unarmed as per the agreement." Ser Garen drew himself up and bowed again, this time making it the deeper bow of a defeated soldier to his conqueror. "Allow me to return to the castle and inform my soldiers of my decision."

Harry bowed, making it a slighter one than Garen's, as befitted a conqueror. "Go, and remember that by your actions you have saved five thousand lives that would otherwise have been lost in fire and terror." The aging Lannister turned and marched away to clamber back over the breach and tell his men that he had surrendered. Harry turned and strode back towards the trenches, to tell his men that they had won.


	9. Into Glory We Shall Ride

Ron looked out from his hiding place at the Tyrell column. To be fair, not all of the banners swore allegiance to Highgarden; Ron saw a few minor bannermen of the Lannisters interspersed among the column. But the vast majority of the men in the new army were either Tyrell bannermen or outright Tyrells. The commander's flag was the Tyrell rose. Ron's eyes narrowed. _There,_ he thought, _that is the target. Without their brave leader, the infantry will scatter and we can ride them down like flushed rabbits._

They were in the plain just north of the forest that encircled Crakehall. Indeed, two-thirds of the enemy army was still in the forest, slowly turtling along. Ron's Bloodguard was concealed in a series of trenches not two hundred feet from the roadside; hidden from wandering eyes by a notice-me-not charm that Fred and George had come up with. Not that it was particularly needed here, Ron noticed, as everyone in the enemy army seemed to have their eyes fixed on the sky. The Tyrell commander was so fixated on fending off an attack by dragons that he had apparently discounted the possibility of a ground ambush. _Careless,_ Ron thought, _and being careless gets you killed._ Not that he could have particularly blamed the enemy commander; he hadn't come up against a force that could move as fast as the Lions in all likelihood. Harry had left the horse cavalry in Casterly Rock with the five hundred Northern infantry that had accompanied them as a garrison and taken the rest in a hell-for-leather dash for this position, arriving the day before yesterday and immediately starting to lay the ambush. The Bloodguard were only a quarter of the trap; Oliver's Third was concealed on the other side of the road, waiting for the signal to burst out of hiding and take the enemy in the flank, while Ron hit the head of the Tyrell force in the other flank. Simultaneously, Harry's Fifth, dismounted and lying in wait on both sides of the road in the forest, was to hit the enemy rear in both flanks at once. But that wasn't all. Hermione had come up with a spell that was like a delayed Blasting Curse. When you laid it, you only said half the spell. The other half was the detonator. The spell itself could blow a man to pieces. When you covered the spot where you had laid the spell with shrapnel, like the gravel they were using here, it was even more deadly. The aim was to create as much confusion and havoc as possible in as short an amount of time. It was for this reason that the Gryffindors were still mounted on their Griffins and Hippogriffs; the enemy soldiers probably had some experience with destriers, but they wouldn't have any at all with _these _mounts. And above all, it was crucial that the enemy remained off balance. If at any point they regained their equilibrium, the Lions would be left facing two-to-one odds and risk being swamped by sheer weight of numbers.

All of a sudden, a long, yowling roar echoed faintly through the still air. Ron watched as the enemy army ground to a halt, the chariot-mounted scorpions Ginny had mentioned moving up to the front of the square. There was a long pause, and then there was an oddly melodic bugling, followed by a deep-chested bellow. Then, tearing the clouds to shreds, the dragon squadrons plunged through the spotty cloud cover, roaring a strident challenge.

"Say what you wish of my sister," Ron commented dryly, "you cannot deny that she has an exceptional sense of drama." A short chuckle rippled through the ranks of the division. They viewed their captain's little sister as a sort of mascot or good luck charm. It had been so even before Ginny had started riding dragons; now the men respected her at least as much as they did Ron, if not more.

Now the dragons had swooped down onto the road itself, forming a single line spanning the entire width of the road and running for several dozen yards off it, roaring defiance and breathing flame in the classic threat displays of their breeds; Ginny's Grendel lashed his viciously spiked tail while Alicia's Ironbelly reared to his full towering height of nearly thirty-five feet from talon to crown and Katie's Fireball launched giant mushroom-shaped plumes of fire thirty feet into the air. As Ron watched, the enemy archers gradually drifted to the head of the column as their officers shifted them forward to face the foe that they had feared for so long.

_Come on,_ Ron silently urged them,_ focus all your attention on them, and ignore everything else. Please, we need you to be completely oblivious. Please._ All of a sudden, Ron's aide nudged his elbow. Ron looked over to the Forest and saw a single red streak fly up into the air; Harry's first signal. He turned to his men. "Get ready!" he ordered in a low voice. His men signed themselves after the fashion of their faiths, checked sword, axe, mace, and wand for ease of draw, and hefted their long ashwood lances. Ron checked his own equipment, nodded in satisfaction, and hefted his own lance as his griffin, Hercules, shifted underneath him, clacking his beak in anticipation. A green ball hurled itself skyward from the forest and exploded into a myriad of smaller stars. At the same time, the dragons all simultaneously reared, bellowed a challenge, and launched themselves into the air. A storm of arrows, crossbow bolts, and scorpion bolts leaped out, but the dragons had been careful to land just outside of range. Every missile fell short. In reply, the dragon riders said the remaining half of the landmine spell and the delayed Blasting Curses exploded. Dozens of men went down, blown apart by the spells, hammered by the shockwaves, and torn by gravel fragments that acted like so many miniature arrowheads.

"Forward, Bloodguard!" Ron roared. "Forward to victory! No prisoners! Hakkaa paalle!"

"HAKKAA PAALLE!" the Bloodguard screamed as they surged out of the trenches and on towards their enemy. "HACK THEM DOWN!" Ron had found that battle cry in a book, of all things. Over the years, it had become the most feared pair of words on the Eastern Continent. Ron was dimly aware of Oliver's division shouting "Awake the Iron!" on the other side of the road, and then the lances were swinging down to present the narrow, double-edged blades, like long daggers, forming a hedge of points in front of the charging griffins. There was just enough time for another war-shout and then Ron's lance slammed into a horseman and punched him from the saddle. The shaft cracked across and Ron smashed an enemy rider across the face with it before drawing his bastard sword from its scabbard at his saddlebow. All around him broken lances were being dropped or used as bludgeons and then dropped and the swords and axes and maces and wands were coming out. Ron chopped down at an archer and cut his skull open before using his shield to bash an enemy knight's horse in the face, causing it to rear and giving Hercules an opportunity to sink his beak into its throat. The griffin ripped his beak free, screeched in mad triumph, and plunged ahead, claws raking and beak snapping as Ron slashed and hacked and laid about him with his sword, employing his shield as both defense and club. A knight loomed before him with drawn sword, but Hercules reared and lashed out at the horse with one of his cruel talons. The horse, a courser, some distant part of Ron's brain noted, not even a destrier, recoiled from the pain of its slashed face and Hercules rushed forward, letting Ron get within sword's reach of the knight.

"Bastard!" Ron shouted as he smashed at the knight's head with his long blade. "Bastard! Motherfucking bastard!" He was roaring like one of the dragons, one armored beast on another, wielding a well-forged sword and bringing death and terror to his foes. Hermione called it "hysterical strength." Harry called it "riding the Devil's warhorse." Ron only cared that, when he was in this state, he was virtually invincible. His enemies seemed to move at half regular speed, their blows barely registered, and they seemed as clumsy as trolls with arthritis. His own men, some of the most elite warriors in the world, struggled to keep up with him. Hercules gave one last stupendous heave, and he and his men were among the enemy command group. A man in richly gilded armor raised an axe and Ron was enraged because the enemy's commander was a fool who thought that war was a game that he could bring fancy armor to. The man swung his axe, but Ron took the blow on his shield and surged inside his reach. He noticed that the man wasn't wearing a helmet and so he thrust his sword at the man's face. The point glanced off the man's teeth and ripped open his cheek to the ear so that the right side of his mouth was a bloody, obscene grin. He reeled away, screaming as blood sprayed from his mouth, and Ron's next blow swiped the man's head from his shoulders. Then came another man in gilded armor, but the Bloodguard on Ron's right was wielding a spiked mace and a single blow ripped the visor from the Tyrell's helmet and the second crumpled the man's sallet helm like tin. Ron saw another armored man on his left, but the Bloodguard on that side of him brought his axe swinging around in a wild haymaker that took the man at the junction of neck and shoulder and cleaved down through the collarbone to send blood flying as he wrenched the axe free in a convulsive heave. A third man came up, but a Bloodguard leveled his wand, shouted a Reductor Curse, and the enemy knight was blasted off his horse. A few seconds later and the last of the enemy commanders fell under bloody swords, whirring maces, crushing axes, and blazing wands. The Bloodguards shouted in triumph as their enemies began to falter and all of a sudden there was a dragon in front of Ron. The dragon squadrons, prevented from strafing by the proximity of friends and foes alike, had landed in the middle of the fight to lend a clawed hand. The Black that had landed in front of Ron lashed out with tail and claw and wing, then lost patience and belched out a wave of flame that cooked a dozen men in their armor and horribly burned dozens more. Then it lumbered back into flight, and Ron led his men into the hole the dragon had opened for them, bellowing their war cry.

"HAKKAA PAALLE!"

XXX

Harry, his armor still caked with blood, stared dully at the spray of bodies that marked the path of the pursuit. Oliver still had squads chasing the fleeing men from the air with bow and javelin and spell, the day after the battle had ended. That end had come quite suddenly after the dragons had intervened. The enemy had just started to break away, running down the road as fast as their feet could carry them. The dragons had lifted back off and led the chase, carving great holes in the mass of fleeing men with bursts of flame while the rest of the Lions pursued and killed until they were too fatigued to lift their arms for another blow. In one day of blood and fire the First, Third, and Fifth divisions of the Lion Company had killed almost nine thousand men for the loss of only about three hundred of their own. The ambush had been so successful that the enemy knights, most of them, hadn't even had time to don their armor. Harry thought that he hadn't seen so much death all in one place and so relatively confined since the Bloody Fields. What will they call this one, he wondered idly. The Bloody Road?

He shook himself out of his stupor and cudgeled his brain back to usefulness. Oliver's Third had taken the most casualties, due to their lighter armor. He would have to call off the pursuit in a few hours, and return to Casterly Rock to regroup.

"Harry?" He turned and found Ron standing behind him, his armor freshly cleaned of blood and tissue. "These arrived just now." He held two envelopes and Harry took them. The first one he opened was from Neville, saying that his Sixth Division, newly commissioned and integrated into the Company's roster, had debarked at Saltpans and was now barging upriver to join King Robb outside of Lord Harroway's Town. The second was from the King himself, congratulating him on seizing Casterly Rock and promising a hefty bonus for that particular service. The second part of the letter summoned him to make all possible speed for the area between High Heart and Harrenhall, to join in the action against Lord Tywin. He folded up the letter.

"Tell Oliver to terminate the pursuit, and regroup here. We'll march through Deep Den, cross the Blackwater Rush at Stoney Sept, and then march north to High Heart."

**A/N: This chapter is the primary reason that I rated the story M. I did not base the battle off of any particular action from the historical record; it just flowed from my brain out my fingertips and into the word processing program. On another note, ooh, suspense! Will our heroes triumph again, or shall they fall to Lannister treachery? Read and review, for the love of every God ever worshipped by man! Please?**


	10. In the Hall of the Northern King

Harry stood in the Great Hall at Riverrun. He and his divisional commanders, along with the dragon squadron captains, were on the left of Robb's throne, while the Greatjon, the brothers Tully, Roose Bolton, and Rickard Karstark were on his right, with the King's battle companions arranged behind the throne and Grey Wind, the king's direwolf, lying at his feet. Harry cast a wary glance at the wolf; wizard he might be, but there was something about that beast that was plainly uncanny.

It was a week after the battle with Tywin Lannister. The aging Lord Paramount of the West, reinforced by the greater part of the Tyrell's strength, had marched forth from Harrenhall, aiming to force Robb's hand by threatening Riverrun. In any case, it had been the Lannister patriarch whose hand was forced. Robb had unleashed Seamus, Percy, and Oliver against him in swift stinging raids, pricking him like flies at an aurochs until Ser Gregor Clegane, goaded beyond patience, had broken away from the line of march, shouting for the knights of the West to follow him as he charged. The Lannister-Tyrell army, enraged by weeks of ceaseless arrow and spell fire, had streamed after him, howling for blood. The raiders had melted away, and the dragon squadrons had swooped down, jaws blazing flame. Thirty-six dragons had circled and dived and harried and spat fire for most of the day, turning two-thirds of the chivalry of the West and the Reach into so much cooked meat, charred banners, and melted armor. The rest of the Northern army had charged into the Lannister-Tyrell foot, shattering them utterly. The Bloodguards and Life Guards had jockeyed for the lead with the King's battle companions, with the rest of the army struggling to keep up. The Young Wolf had taken Tywin Lannister prisoner himself, while Neville had captured Mace Tyrell and the Greatjon had taken Ser Kevan.

"Bring forth the prisoners," Robb called. At his command, Tywin Lannister, his brother Kevan, and Mace Tyrell were brought before the throne. The Mountain that Rides would have been with them, but he was still bedridden with horrendous burns after the group he had been in had been strafed by a Ridgeback. "My lords, welcome to Riverrun. If you will give your paroles, then we can spare you the cells." When the only reply was a flat glare from Tywin and stony silences from the other two nobles, Robb gestured to the men standing behind them. "Remove them to the dungeons, out of sight and earshot of each other." The men were led away, Tywin still glaring even as he was marched out the door. "Ser Cleos Frey, stand forward." The young nobleman, still shocked at seeing his liege lord in chains, stepped before the throne and bent the knee. "You are satisfied that Tywin Lannister is a prisoner and that his army is defeated?"

"Yes, Your Grace," the Frey said nervously.

"Then go to King's Landing and tell King Joffrey Baratheon and his court what you have seen. And tell them as well that I have new terms for them." Ser Cleos nodded. "My terms are as follows. Firstly, they shall recognize the eternal independence and sovereignty of the North and the Riverlands, renouncing all claims to rulership, revenues, and all other rights and privileges they formerly held as regards those lands, and releasing the nobles and inhabitants of those lands from all debts, oaths of fealty, and obligations they may owe. I will be sending with you a map delineating the border that we wish to have. Secondly, they shall return my sisters to me, alive and unharmed, on pain of invasion. Thirdly, King Joffrey himself, along with his siblings and his mother, are to be surrendered to our custody, along with Ice, my father's sword, and the bones of my father and his guards. Fourthly, they shall release all those of our men that they have taken prisoner, alive and unharmed. Tell him that if he does these things, then he, his siblings, and his mother will have asylum and safe passage; Joffrey and Tommen may join the Night's Watch, while Cersei and Myrcella may join the Silent Sisters. Further, advise him that he and Stannis may have defeated each other for the moment, but that I still have an army and that he doesn't. And knowing Stannis, Joffrey would do better to surrender to me than to Stannis." Robb's tone grew even harder than when he had been dictating the terms. "Remember that you are still my prisoner, even though you are traveling to King's Landing. If you do not return promptly upon the completion of your embassy, or if we encounter you on the field of battle, then you shall be killed on sight."

Ser Cleos gulped. "If it pleases Your Grace, then I shall depart immediately for King's Landing."

Robb nodded. "Ser Brynden, see that he is given a good horse and an escort. I don't want any inconvenient accidents to befall our envoy." The Blackfish bowed and escorted Cleos from the hall. "Captain-General Potter, stand forward." Harry walked into the empty space before the throne and faced his employer, going to one knee as protocol demanded. "Rise." Harry stood, steadying his sword with a hand on the lion's head hilt. "I realize that, under the Articles by which the Hogwarts Companies are governed, you cannot accept the lordship I would confer upon you for your seizure of Casterly Rock, nor can I offer it to Captain Ginevra Potter for the pivotal role her dragons played in the Battle of the Red Fork. I can, however, offer you this." He gestured and four men brought forth a pair of large chests, opening them to reveal that they were each brimming with coin. "These chests represent one year's revenue from the lands of Casterly Rock and the mines beneath the Golden Tooth. Accept it as a bonus above the payment promised by the contract between us. And know this; my hall is always open, to you or to any man or woman of Gryffindor. If ever you are in need of employment or any aid that is within my power, you have but to ask."

Harry bowed very deeply, his estimation of the Young Wolf increasing several degrees. "I heartily accept the gold and your offer, Your Majesty. If ever you come to Gryffindor, there shall be a royal welcome waiting for you in Castle Godric." He made his own gesture, and four of his men rushed forward to accept the chests from the Northmen. He himself walked back to his place beside the throne, to where his great captains waited with wide grins as they calculated their own percentages. Ron slapped him on the shoulder as Seamus and the rest of them smiled.

"Lord Umber, stand forward!"

**A/N: I based the battle described in this chapter on the Battle of Arsuf, which took place on September 7, 1191, between Richard the Lionheart and Saladin during the Third Crusade. The only difference is that the scene I wrote is what could have happened had the battle gone Saladin's way and had he been in possession of a unit of dragons. **

**There will be no more chapters posted until I have at least ten new reviews. So if you want to find out how it ends, especially what happens to that cowardly little shit Joffrey, then post reviews. **

**Please?**


	11. Victoria Leones

Harry sat on his hippogriff beside the quay as he supervised the loading of the flotilla that would take his Company back to Hogwarts. The pay chests had just been loaded, under the watchful eyes of a full squad of Life Guards. The dragons had flown out to Dragonstone the day before, there to begin the next leg of the journey that would take them across the Eastern Sea and then from there on to Gryffindor.

Joffrey Baratheon, Joffrey Waters now, since the secret of his parentage had been revealed, had soundly refused Robb's terms, even sending him a challenge to single combat. How they had laughed, when Ser Cleos had relayed the boy king's challenge. The Greatjon had urged Robb to accept the challenge and then name _him_ his champion, provoking even more laughter at the thought of the boy-king, who had never fought a serious fight in his life, facing the goliathic Lord Umber. Robb had marched on King's Landing the day afterward, with the Greatjon in the vanguard and Harry's Lions right behind him. The Second, Third, and Sixth Divisions had managed to infiltrate the city among the wave of refugees that had preceded them. As the Northerners and the rest of the Lions had attacked the walls, the infiltrators had assailed the garrison from behind. In fact, calling the collection of men on the walls a garrison had been pushing the term. The majority of the defenders had been the gold-cloaked City Watch, with only a few thousand Tyrell men-at-arms, sellswords, and armed townspeople in support. The two-pronged attack, with the dragons flying support, had smashed them from the walls and Ron's Bloodguard had raced the Greatjon's men for the gate, torn from its hinges by spells and curses. The army had then raced the defenders for the Red Keep, arriving so close on their heels that a massive traffic jam had developed. The dragons had intervened at that point, landing behind enemy lines to roast scores of men in their armor and burn down the gate to Maegor's Holdfast. The end had come swiftly then, Northmen and mercenaries bursting through the jam like water through a broken levee and spilling into the courtyard. They had dismounted then, and fought their way into the towers and buildings on foot, with Harry, Robb, Ron, the Blackfish, the Greatjon, Seamus, Oliver, and Robb's battle companions in the forefront.

Even at the last, surrounded by Northmen and Lions and with his Kingsguard dead, dying, surrendered, or fled, Joffrey Waters had refused to give up. He had charged Robb with drawn sword, but Robb had disarmed him with the ease of a veteran swordsman and Harry had Stunned him. Cersei Lannister had taken poison when Neville and Seamus had burst into the Keep's sept, thus escaping justice. Jaime Lannister, however, had surrendered, and confessed to being the father of his sister's children before taking the black. Joffrey had demanded trial by combat, leading to fierce debate among Robb's lords as to who would be his champion until he threw up his hands and appointed Ginny, arguing that it would show just how much contempt he felt for the newly deposed king to have a woman be his champion. Ginny had admitted that she "might have spared the little brat, but he tried to knife me after he yielded. I _had_ to behead the puny fuck to get him to knock it off." And Harry had to admit, it said quite a lot about the little bastard that he had been so easily defeated. They hadn't traded more than five blows before Joffrey's sword had been ripped from his hands and the former king was cowering before Ginny's saber, clutching his bloody forearm and screaming that he yielded. Jaime had looked in equal measures both fearful and disgusted at that point. Tyrion Lannister had also surrendered, and was now at Casterly Rock trying to rebuild the Westerlands without the Golden Tooth, which had been granted to the Tullys. Harry wished him well; there was something about the dwarf that was eminently likable. Maybe it was his sense of humor. Stannis Baratheon was still holed up on Dragonstone, part of the reason the dragon squadrons were stopping off there when they could fly across the Narrow Sea in a day and a night was to convince Stannis to save himself a lot of pain and surrender. And if he did not surrender, then Robb had told Ginny to "burn the island until it melts; maybe that will get his attention."

"So you leave today." Harry turned at the sound of Robb Stark's voice. The young king was only in King's Landing for the Great Council that would decide the next king. The borders between the North and the South had been settled between him and Tyrion, acting as the Hand of the King and thus empowered to do such things. The southern border of the North now extended as far as Stony Sept, east to Sow's Horn and Maidenpool, and northwest in almost a straight line to the Banefort. In fairness, Robb's new realm was officially known as The Kingdom of the North and the Trident, but to most, it was simply the North. Harry expected that, in a generation or two, the Vale would join the North, if only because they were otherwise in isolation from the rest of Westeros.

"Yes, Your Majesty. The war is over, we've been paid, and there's nothing to hold us here. Time for us to return to Gryffindor, resupply, refit, recruit, and then rest until the next contract comes along, trading insults with the Serpents the whole while." Harry grinned. "You on the other hand, have a country to rebuild, debts to pay, and, eventually, a kingdom to rule. My advice is to listen to the Greatjon and get rid of the Freys at the first opportunity. Maybe offer the lordship of the Twins to Lord Mallister?"

Robb shook his head. "Unfortunately, I don't have an excuse to get rid of fucking Walder Frey yet. Otherwise, I would gladly do so. Maybe that could be the subject of our next contract?"

Harry laughed. "As the excuse? That's expensive when you're going up against the most powerful nation in Westeros."

Robb laughed himself. "The most powerful nation in Westeros? I think that's reserved for the Five Kingdoms, as I hear they're calling themselves now."

"Look at it this way, Sire," Harry replied. "Your men have a tradition of victory behind them now. They know that, with you in command, the Greatjon in the van, and the Blackfish leading the outriders, they can crush any army on the continent. If you ordered it of them, they would storm the gates of Hell for you and the Greatjon would give you the Devil himself, served to order. And the rest of Westeros knows it."

Robb started to speak and then paused, considering. After a minute's thought, he nodded pensively. "You're right, again. Give me a decade to rebuild the Riverlands, and I could raise an army that could sweep everything before it as far south as the Dornish Marches. And the only reason I would stop at Dorne is because no army, be it ever so large, can subdue the desert by force." He looked at Harry. "If I called, would you come to help in that?"

Harry nodded. "If we don't have a conflicting contract, yes. If I've learned one thing on this campaign, it's that you're the only king in Westeros worth the name. Renly, I've heard, was too concerned with the trappings of kingship to be an effective one. Stannis is too stern, too set in his ways. A king has to learn when to yield, or he will be as great a tyrant as Aerys the Mad. Balon Greyjoy . . . even if his plan had succeeded, the ironborn are too few and too poor to rule much beyond their islands. As for Joffrey, well . . ." he trailed off and both men laughed. "By the way, who's the name being floated for king?"

Robb frowned. "The way it's panning out, it'll be a contest between Mace Tyrell and Doran Martell. My money's on Tyrell. He has more men even after your ambush on the Ocean Road and the Battle of the Red Fork, he's closer to King's Landing, and passes work both ways, militarily. If he wanted to, Mace could place Dorne under a pretty serious blockade, especially if he played his cards so that what's left of the ironborn came in on his side. And Dorne, by virtue of their climate and it's constraints on their population, will always have a secondary role at best in the kingdom's politics. I'm just here so that I don't have to travel back in a month to offer my congratulations to whoever it is."

"And where is your new capital, by the way? Winterfell?"

Robb shook his head. "Too far north, since my realm now extends south of the Neck. At present, I'm thinking the Twins would do nicely. They're far enough north that the Northern lords won't feel that I'm abandoning them and it's far enough south that the river lords will think I'm accessible." He made a face. "The trick will be convincing the Freys of it."

"Invite yourself and your northmen in for a feast, fully armed, and mention it over dinner," Harry suggested. "That way, they'll have to consider the fact that you have an army in there with them if they refuse. And if they do refuse," Harry shrugged. "Convince them of the error of their ways."

Robb nodded thoughtfully. "I'll keep it in mind." He held out his hand. "Gods go with you, Captain-General. May all our future dealings be as profitable as this one was."

Harry shook his former employer's hand. "I wish you good luck and better skill in ruling, Your Majesty. I hope you remember my invitation to Gryffindor."

"Likewise mine to my kingdom. And it's Robb, damn it. You helped me win my throne; you deserve to call me by my first name."

They shook hands again, and Harry pulled away to ride his hippogriff aboard the ship while Robb started back to the city. _There goes a hero, who must now be a king,_ Harry, thought as he looked back. _I pity the poor man._

He shook his head, dismounted, and handed his mount off to a groom. "Embark when ready, Captain. We're going home!"

The cheers could be heard on the other side of King's Landing.

**So that's the end of this story. Let me know if you want a sequel, and what you want included, and if Real Life allows, I shall do my best to oblige!**


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